


Red Orchid

by orphan_account



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: AU?, Character Study, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Relationships and Mental Health, Schizophrenia, Vignette, awareness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 19:34:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21397504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: In which Sephiroth is a paranoid schizophrenic; Yazoo, Kadaj, and Loz are his recurrent, pervasive delusions, and Genesis thinks he just needs to get over it.
Relationships: Genesis Rhapsodos/Sephiroth
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14





	Red Orchid

_’Every time my bones fall apart,  
I tell myself I’ll be something different.’_

* * *

“Your therapist doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

Sitting at his desk with the classical music up as far as he could manage, Sephiroth twitched. In the corner next to his globe of Gaia-which was actually an emergency alcohol cabinet-a black swathed shape shifted before sighing loudly and dramatically. There were two more next to the filing cabinets but they were, for the time being, silent. The silver-haired Soldier knew better, however, than to expect them to remain so. The tap of booted feet against carpeted flooring was growing ever-more prevalent, and it was only a matter of time before a wave of cacophony was unleashed upon him in the form of poor judgement and uncomfortably impeccable logic. He was tired...more tired than he usually was, in any case. After a six week mission in the grasslands and four all-nighters trying to deal with residual documentary pileup, Shinra’s Finest had felt like he was going insane long before his ‘company’ showed up.

“She’s probably working for the government” Yazoo added breezily from over his shoulder.

“I am the government” Sephiroth responded irritably before cursing himself for reacting at all.

There was a ticking-cracking noise in the opposite direction; something splintered-his desk, he acknowledged-and then crumbled into pieces before a large...white callalily exploded out of the lacquer. The General ignored it and the impression faded away...left him with just his papers, a pounding headache, and a sour taste creeping over his tongue. Metallic and acidic, it slithered over his taste buds before lodging somewhere in the back of his throat. The phone rang, but he wasn’t entirely sure if it was actually ringing. It was 0230, and as far as he knew there was no one in Finance at that hour, despite the red indicator light telling him otherwise. Green eyes spent several minutes staring accusingly at the receiver before he yanked the handset from the cradle and put it to his ear.

“General’s office” he muttered.

_ **”Play with me!”** _

Loz’s thunderous voice was inundated with static on the other end of the line-if you could even call it _’the other end of the line’_-but there was no mistaking it either way. Biting his lip to keep from losing his temper, Sephiroth tilted his head in a manner that made his neck crack before snarling his response into the phone.

“I do not have time for _games_, Loz.”

The callalily was back.

_**”Gross”**_ was the comment into Sephiroth’s ear before it was subsequently filled with the low drone of the dial tone.

Growling under his breath, the General slammed the handset back down before covering his face with his hands. Behind him, someone ‘tsk’ed.’

It was always like this.

Always, and a good indicator that he needed to request leave. Resting his forehead against the cool, wooden surface of his desk, the green-eyed First exhaled slowly. It wasn’t healthy to base red flags for needed ‘shore leave’ on his delusions, but he was so focused on his work otherwise it was hard for him to tell when he was mentally exhausted. _’Mentally’_ being the key terminology, because physical exertion wasn’t something that Soldiers generally suffered in the first place. Mako was a chemical that made it difficult-once successfully administered-for Shinra’s military to tire easily. Unfortunately for Sephiroth, it also made his already unstable mental faculties bolder, brighter, and more difficult to manage. Across from him, Kadaj settled into his spare chair and began drilling holes in his forehead with his eyes, but he ignored him...it was _better_ if he ignored him.

Shame.

He was always ashamed of this facet of his life...mostly because he was told that he ought to be, and because Hojo had-once he discovered it-told him that he had to hide it, by any means necessary. That and the fact that if he _wasn’t_ able to hide it, the deranged scientist had made it clear that he’d be declared unfit for duty and decommissioned. It wasn’t always virulent...more like background noise on a regular day; Sephiroth was good-at that point-at managing his symptoms in a manner that gave no indication that anything was wrong. Sometimes, on very good days, things seemed to truly be alright...if anything related to being a tool for a company was ‘alright.’ But when the voices...when the sensations were absent, he felt halfway to normal.

_”Your appointment with Hojo is on Wednesday, at 1345.”_

The labs didn’t help.

Unfortunately, labs and experimentation were a part of his every day existence. When he was six, Hojo had-per regulation-had him evaluated by a pediatric psychologist who insisted that he needed to interact with other children...that he needed a life outside of company dogma. Moreover, she’d insisted he needed therapy, that he wouldn’t ‘develop normally’ if the head of Shinra’s Science Division continued to experiment on him in ways that no child should be experimented on. As far as he was aware, she was fired only to mysteriously disappear, and Hojo-of course-didn’t listen to her. When Sephiroth was sixteen and came back from his first deployment gibbering about Kadaj, he at least heeded her enough to get him a therapist, but by then the damage was done. He was prescribed enough medication to keep him from seeing umbrellas float off the top of HQ on a regular day, but the diagnosis was permanent.

_”If you don’t keep this under wraps, **boy**, this company goes down with you.”_

‘Functioning’ was a pervasive definition.

There were times when he was glad for his stringent and ruthless conditioning in the program, because without it the General doubted he’d have been able to do his job. Participating in his part as a Soldier was easy, and it was sometimes the only thing between himself and total oblivion because he had it down to a science. By the time he was eighteen, his ‘paperwork game’, as Fair would call it, was industrial in nature, he had regulatory conditions memorized, and his sword and footwork were unparalleled. The Brass lauded him as a prodigy, but the cold truth that _without_ it he’d be a disaster was always something lurking in the back of his mind. Sephiroth was proud of his work because it was the only semblance of normalcy that he could manage. And while others put him on a pedestal for it, it was more-in an individual sense-a comfort...because at least he was surviving...and at least no one had noticed.

_”Regulation 45: A Soldier must present himself with a level of decorum forthcoming and appropriate to the situation in order to uphold company reputation.”_

That changed when Angeal and Genesis were recruited.

Soldiers were-from Sephiroth’s experience with them-unobservant. They didn’t ask questions, and they were happy to serve. They were especially happy to serve and take orders from him, and he’d never taken that for granted. His fellow Firsts, however, were painfully observant. They noticed when he took leave for unspecified reasons, or when he snarled something into thin air over his shoulder. Angeal was the first to take initiative and approach him about it, but only to offer support if he needed it. The discussion didn’t last long...and he felt better for it, because he knew he could trust the dark-haired First not to pry.

_”If you need someone to talk to, I’m all ears sir.”_

Genesis was different.

He was different in the sense that-due to his competitiveness-he utilized Sephiroth’s inadequacies in terms of mental faculty-initially-to try and usurp him. Unfortunately-or maybe fortunately for Sephiroth-that usurpment ended up taking the redhead absolutely nowhere, and they developed a grudging sort of respect for one another after nearly a decade in service together. Genesis was witty, he was charming, and he was _very_ good at making amends, so the younger man let it go because he had no desire to further any scrutiny on his part. Angeal seemed equally relieved that they’d called a tentative truce, and didn’t bother commenting on any of it. They ran missions, as they were supposed to, and communicated professionally, if not somewhat awkwardly out of necessity.

_”There’s a comm for you on Deck 6, didn’t ask about it. Sounded like the Lieutenant, that one with the gnarly mustache. Give him my love, will ya?”_

This, of course, only lasted so long.

It didn’t last because Sephiroth-to his sincere horror-developed feelings for Genesis. Such horror experienced a temporary relief when he discovered that said feelings were reciprocated, but once they embarked into romantic territory he realized that his symptoms were much harder to hide. He couldn’t-for once-brush the redhead off when he needed to take leave...he had to come up with a solid excuse, which was much harder than it sounded. His second-in-command was inquisitive and hard to fool, and it was with increasing despair that he acknowledged that his time was running out when it came to dealing with things secretively and professionally. He could only go to great lengths to conceal things so long before it looked like he was being insincere or deceptive. With the influx of war and a possible invasion of Wutai in the future, his stress levels began to exacerbate things to an extreme degree. As a result, he saw his therapist more often and switched up his medication.

_”You’re seeing a therapist?!”_

The blow to his self esteem was immense.

Immense, when Genesis found out first about his therapy, and then-via himself-about his diagnosis. And Sephiroth supposed he could take issue with the redhead following him to his appointment in the first place, but he was blinded by his desperation for acceptance. So when he sat the scarlet-haired swordsman down and explained the situation to him, he’d expected disgust...if not revulsion. It wasn’t something that was easy to deal with, especially with Yazoo hissing negatives regarding saying anything at all over his shoulder. But he respected Genesis enough to let him in, and he cared enough about him that he felt he had the right to know.

_”It sounds like you just let it define you.”_

He hadn’t expected complete and utter dismissal.

Not in the sense of romanticism, and that was confusing. Because Genesis seemed perfectly content to remain in a relationship with him as long as he didn’t talk about therapy, and as long as he didn’t discuss things to too great a degree. At first, he was relieved, and who wouldn’t be? His companion didn’t ask questions, didn’t seem to think any of it was of particular importance when it came to who he was. He was so exorbitantly grateful for the reprieve that he didn’t look at the pervasive undertones of it until he was alone and running empty after a year-long reconnaissance of Junon. Sitting on his sofa and turning over a placard he’d earned from the mission, he registered Yazoo sitting down on the coffee table but didn’t deign to speak until he was spoken to.

_”He doesn’t love you”_ was the purred declaration. _”He loves the **idea** of you.”_

Sephiroth dismissed it; shook his head and told himself firmly to get some sleep.

_”You know it’s not that easy”_ Kadaj had muttered from the other end of the couch. _”Wake up, stupid. He can think in black, white, and grey, but he can’t think in yellow, red, or blue.”_

_”You just made that up”_ the silver-haired man accused despairingly.

_”No, we’re just ‘facets of your tormented psyche’”_ Yazoo had snorted, petting the lion that had suddenly appeared in front of his television. _”Isn’t that what your bitch therapist said?”_

_"Don’t call her that! And she didn’t say ‘tormented’.”_

_”**You** called her that”_ Loz snickered childishly as the lion morphed into something resembling a beetle covered with eyes. _”If anything she says can be believed. We’re in your head, you can just snap your fingers and we’ll go away.”_

If only it was that easy.

Frowning into his palms, Sephiroth bided a moment before sitting back in his chair. If only it were so easy as to not define himself by his existence. By what he saw and what he felt...during times of high stress. He’d have given _anything_ for that to be a reality. But the silver-haired, childish threesome surrounding him...the echoing, slithering whispers in the back of his mind and the ever-present sense of danger and betrayal told him otherwise. Something was nudging at them...something larger...something he couldn’t see but could feel. The callalily was gone and in its place was a red orchid. The anthers were stained the color of blood...and as he watched they began to trail vicious...scarlet rubicund over delicate petals…’till it pooled on the desk below. It wilted quickly-most of them did-and in its place was the smell of rot.

_”It’s all the same. It’s always the same.”_

He wasn’t entirely sure if his brain was any different.

It’d started out well enough; Yazoo was a companion, Kadaj was sarcastic but logical, and Loz was good for a laugh if he was feeling infantile. They didn’t do well with pervasive relationships, however, and they were never kind. It was always about concealment...about isolation and distance. Even when they weren’t there, Sephiroth was always painfully conscious of the danger that he presented to others when he wasn’t in a good frame of mind. But wishing otherwise...acknowledging that difference was something that could only be that; wished for. When the cycles came, he was just a facet of his psychic carnival and if he made it out to the other side in one piece without hurting someone, he was grateful and there was nothing he could do but fortify himself for the next episode that would inevitably come.

_”Hey, are you gonna ride this wave?”_

Sephiroth had lived his entire life with the solid knowledge that he had something to prove.

Not only to those around him, but to himself. He had to prove that he could function, that he could do things not only well, but _better_ than others. Mundanity didn’t suit him because if he was bored, he was a threat to himself. Sephiroth had to be doing in order to avoid _being_, and it was a constant, virulent war against his psyche and his desire to live just one more normal, uneventful day. If he could make it to bed without seeing a flash of black leather out of the corner of his peripheral vision, then he considered it a success. Shifting in his chair, the silver-haired Soldier ignored the insistent knocking at his door until whoever was behind it kicked the offending entryway open. Yazoo released an expletive and disappeared into the ceiling as Genesis forced his way into his office and stared accusingly at him. The General stared back...feeling resigned but at the same time strangely at peace with himself.

“It’s 0900” the redhead snapped. “I’ve been calling you for two hours.” Sapphire eyes traversed the room before landing on his paperwork. “You’ve been here all night.” Clearing his throat, the younger man stood, swaying slightly as he did so before steadying himself on the corner of his desk. Loz poked his shoulder hard enough that it made him hiss, and his second-in-command didn’t miss it. “Again?” he exclaimed, sounding exasperated. “Seph, you need to get out...you need to do something different. Get your mind off this crap, make friends, make it go away.”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you honey?” Kadaj sneered from the guest chair.

“I have an appointment in thirty minutes” the General muttered hoarsely, exiting to the receptionists’ area of his office-for now, empty save for the two of them-and starting the coffee machine. Genesis followed him out.

“Of course you do” was the muttered comment. “Can’t go without your weekly dose of shrinkage, can you?” With one finger poised to turn on the coffeemaker, Sephiroth paused and then lowered his hand. Exhaling, he closed his eyes against the hurt...against the resentment that boiled up inside him as it always did. Yazoo was leaning on the door frame and smirking knowingly, orchids were blooming across the office floor...and all of them were bleeding. “Have you thought about just...going off your medication?”

“Oh, I _like_ that idea” Kadaj chortled from atop the paper bin. “Yes, let’s do that. There’s nothing more fun than chopping up enemies wearing the faces of everyone you’ve ever cared about.”

Sephiroth shattered the coffee mug in his other hand.

The pieces floated up to the ceiling.

“We’re done” he said tightly.

Genesis, for once, was silent. When he turned to drive the point home, the green-eyed first realized he couldn’t read his expression...but he didn’t know if that was because it was an illusion, or if the redhead had simply schooled his visage to something he couldn’t fathom.

“What changed?” was the flat return.

Swallowing and palming his keycard, Sephiroth felt his lips spasm in a downward motion even as cold ...relentless despair dragged at his soul. About-facing, he began to stride towards the exit...staining his boots. He paused at the door and spoke over his shoulder.

“I thought you were different” he replied shakily.

“I was wrong.”

**Author's Note:**

> *may be edited periodically for grammar but as I'm doing NanoWriMo here and privately, I wanted to get this out. Edit 2: definitely in need of an edit because stoma ≠ anther ಠ_ಠ


End file.
